


Struggling Storm

by brokenEisenglas



Series: Storms, Rain, and the Eye of the Hurricane [1]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Fear, Gen, Horatio Whump, Hurricane, OOC, Other, Past Child Abuse, Protective Insticts, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scarring, Team Dynamics, first work in a trilogy, free writing, non-betaed, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/pseuds/brokenEisenglas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hurricane makes landfall, Horatio must rush to safety. His experience sends him into shock and opens wounds from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struggling Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fanfiction I wrote in November of 2009. I spent weeks and weeks on the original. This one is only slightly edited. I wanted to keep as much of my old writing style as I could so that I could learn from it.
> 
> The characters are slightly OOC (if not more than 'slightly'), but I was more worried about the idea. My younger self tried writing the accents into speech, but tired quickly and began writing in as close to standard English as she could. I attempted to catch the dialogues as I went, but, again, I did not wish to dilute the style...
> 
> Heed the warnings.

**Struggling Storm (November 5, 2009):**

 

The night is dark. No cars should be driving on the roads; only the street lamps illuminate a path. Houses are empty; their residents evacuated because of the approaching storm. A light wind bustles the palms. The rattling resonates a calm feeling. No birds squawk overhead like usual. Instead, the serenity of the environment yells ‘a storm is coming’. The sweet aroma of rain fills the air… Here it comes.

            In the distance, an SUV coasts the roads, surveying each yard and house looking for any who have decided to stay. The driver, a man in his late forties, speaks into a cellphone keeping communication with Base. His hair a vibrant red, skin a pale cream, and face made of soft sweet features suggest he is of Irish/English decent. His eyes are shadowed, hiding their color.

            “Frank, I have a feeling that it’s about to make landfall.” His voice is deep and sultry; the feel soft and smooth. “I’m on my way back… Okay… Ten minutes… All right. Keep the garage open… Thank you.” Flipping the phone shut, the red haired man performs a U-turn before speeding back up the street. Behind him, the rain greys the sky. The hurricane makes landfall.

            Thunder and lightning shake the moving vehicle. Rain approaches the speeding Hummer as the driver frantically drives to find safety. A tree in the distance is struck by a bolt of electricity. It slowly descends towards the earth on which it lived. He notes the falling object and pushes down on the gas pedal. The speeding vehicle barely makes it past the tree, bouncing on its wheels almost losing control.

            “Damn,” he mumbles. Heart racing, he pulls out his cell in desperation of contacting someone. “Damn, damn, damn…” In the distance, a chunk of a house soars through the air towards the Hummer. “Oh shit!”

            He swerves the vehicle, tires squealing, cellphone lost, and tipping on its left side. While trying to save the vehicle, his seatbelt breaks, his ‘lieutenant’ badge is caught on the broken strap, and his gun releases from its holster. Seconds pass as he reins the vehicle back under control. Sweat pours from the side of his face; the salty taster fills his dry mouth. His blood feels thinned, the pressure dropping out. Pale-faced, dilated eyes, and quickly beating heart, he rushes to arrive back at the Lab.

            Now unable to see, he has to play be sense of direction. More trees and debris clutter the roads. His vehicle bounces and plows through the obstacles as best it can. Finally, he makes his way back to the Lab where his friends wait in worry, and his office is with a change of clothes and couch to sleep on.

            Pulling into the garage, eyes turn to him and his trashed department issued Hummer. Relief and disappointment linger on the faces of those who waited. After parking the Hummer, he steps down onto the concrete and collapses. A blonde woman, brunette Caucasian male, and large burly balding male drop to his side. Voices call out to him, voices that he cannot hear. Breathing out, his body registers he is safe and unharmed.

            The blonde’s fingers go to his neck as she checks his pulse. Saying something, the two men grasp one arm each, and help him into the barricaded building. Feeling the heaviness of his eyelids, the Lieutenant closes his eyes and gives into the darkness…

 

            “He needs to lie down. You two think you can carry him to his office?” She leads the men through the maze of glass walls and curious eyes of passers-by.

            “’Course, Caleigh. He ain’t heavy.” The larger man helping replies. His accent is Texan, his build a workman’s. He is the man from the phone: Frank. Detective Frank Tripp, a close friend and ally of the redhead.

            “He ain’t heavy.” The larger man helping replies. His accent is Texan, his build a workman’s. He is the man from the phone: Frank. Detective Frank Tripp, a close friend and ally of the redhead.

            “ _You_ think he isn’t heavy. I, on the other hand, don’t usually have to carry this much weight up _stairs_.” Ryan Wolfe, the young brunette, complains of his boss. His younger mind and loose emotions boil at the surface. He shuffles alongside Frank, helping as best he can. “Want us to fluff the pillows for him or just lay him down?”

            “Don’t be an ass, Ryan. This is the least you could do for him. He’s saved your hide time and time again.”

            “I wasn’t trying to be, _Caleigh_. I was asking so I knew whether to put pillows together or not.”

            “Stop arguin’. You two go get pillows from the break room. I’ll carry ‘im up.”

            Shifting the redhead’s full weight onto his body, Frank ascends the stairs hoping he will not lose balance. Upon reaching the uppermost step to the balcony, he enters the lieutenant’s office and lays him on the large black couch. While rechecking his pulse, Caleigh and Ryan enter the office with four non-matching couch pillows. Caleigh’s eyes are filled with rage, sympathy, concern, and fear. Her body language suggests she was just in an argument.

            “Stetler just stopped me,” she whispers. “He wants to know what happened and if Horatio is going to need a day or two off.” She mumbles a curse as she examines her friend.

            “Whatever happened to him really wore him out.”

            “You think, Ryan. Did you see the Hummer?” Her anger seeps through her tone. Her green eyes burn brightly by the agitation she feels.

            “Hey?” The two arguers turn to face Frank. “Think Alexx is here in Miami still? She could hurry here when the eye is over us.”

            “Yeah. I’ll call her and see if she could make it.” Ryan runs out of the room to make the call.

            “How is he, Frank?”

            “I don’ know for sure. His pulse is fine, but he’s restless. Keeps twitchin’ and movin’. Think he’s dreaming?”

            “Probably,” her eyes rake over Horatio one more time. She notices a cut just below his jaw. “Wonder what made this.” Skimming her fingers over the abrasion, Horatio’s body lurches up. His terrified expression and blood curdling scream linger in the room before he clasps onto Frank. Tears stream down his face, soaking Frank’s shirt and chest. High pitched sobs wrack his body.

            Frank instinctively holds Horatio closer to his body. The tight grip protective and assuring. Frank’s eyes connect with Caleigh’s, her expression just as confused as Frank’s. Horatio’s hold tightens as he lets his tears fall. Minutes go by while the man tries to calm himself. Frank feels the loosened hold and pulls back from his friend. Horatio’s head is bowed; his eyes focused on the floor.

            “Horatio?” No answer. “H, talk to me.” Caleigh’s voice echoes in the dead silence of the room. Light from the ceiling illuminates the red of Horatio’s hair, and the slight shuddering of his shoulders. Her eyes, with their intense gaze, level along with her to Horatio’s. Shame, fear, anger, and disappointment flicker through his oceanic eyes.

            “What happened, Horatio?” Frank insists. “You wanna talk about it?” No answer, only silence.

            “Frank? You want me to grab you another shirt?”  
            “Yeah, please, Cal?” She nods her head. “Thanks.”

            “Left alone in the office, Frank decides to try and encourage Horatio to talk. Cautiously, he places a hand on the other man’s shoulder and nudges him.

            “Horatio, you need to say something’. I need to know what’s wrong. Please, don’t leave me in the dark.” Muffled words come from the bent over man, crying follows. “I don’t understand.”

            “I’m sorry,” those two words surprise Frank.

            “For what? You’ve nothin’ to be sorry for.”

            “I… I…” He trails to no words, unable to explain the memories that have risen from their graves. More tears sting his eyes, his vision unclear and hazy. “You won’t understand.”

            “All right…” Defeated in his attempt, the other man transitions into another form of talking. “We saw the Hummer, ‘course. Looked like crap. You had a rough time?”

            Horatio nods his head once.

            “Thought so. Chief ain’t gonna be happy when he sees the damage. He’ll say you shouldn’t of been out there.”

            “I know,” the younger man pauses in thought. “I’ll pay for the damages. I was just paranoid. The last time we had a hurricane come through there were so many cases. I couldn’t just-”

            “Whoa! You ain’t paying for squat. The department can do that. Drivers are responsible for the gas and keys.” Both men chuckle at the inside joke.

            “Yeah, we both know how reliable Speed was with gas.”

            “Couldn’t remember to fill it up when he was done. He was the same with Caleigh’s tools,” the redhead chuckles again. Frank glances at Horatio seeing his nerves had calmed.

            “Had to go pick him up. Then, you had to fill the tank back up and make the thing run before Rick found out.” Reminiscing, the redhead’s gaze is distant before he shakes off the moment. “Apologies… I am slightly tired. I’m glad I made it back. You would have had a-”

            Extremely loud thunder vibrates the glass and floors of the building. Lights flicker on and off, others blow fuses. Screams are heard throughout the premises. Children of lab techs and detectives hide behind their parents for safety. Officers dash back and forth through hallways making sure nothing gave. Another clamorous thunder wracks the building.

            Hyperventilating, the Lieutenant closes his eyes tight, ready for the next blow. Lightning crackles and blitzes outside the Lab. Fear spikes every soul inside the shelter. Debris along with fallen branches ram into the outer walls of the glass fortress. Shattering glass screams in pain as it scrapes the metal over the large windows.

            Blow after painful blow, the memories ruthlessly attack the man’s mind.

 

            _Images of gruesome scenes flash through his vision. Blood, brown shattered glass, a black leather belt, a woman’s body, the scary man standing over her. His thunderous voice commands the attention he wants and needs. Black eyes watch as the young child guards his mother from further abuse…_

_“Horatio?”_

_The man’s right hand raises, the small souvenir baseball bat pulled back into a swinging position. He lunges towards the eyes of the child watching to see their fate, the feet dead-set and planted, the protective little boy abused for his difference._ CRACK! _The wooden object makes connection with its target. Crimson oozes from the gash on the child’s face._ CRACK! _Another blow busts the boy’s jaw. Pain, white blinding pain, veils his vision. Determined, he stands his ground, not allowing the abuse to move him (to move from him)._

_“Huh, boy? You like this?”_ Crack! _“You want me to lose my job over her?”_ Crunch! _The elder Caine lands a left-handed jab. “You want to protect your harlot of a mother? That whore?!?”_

_“No, she’s not,” the child’s voice screams back. “She’s not a whore! She’s my momma!”_

_“Now that we’re sure of,” the man growls. “I can’t believe I kept you. You know, you’re not worth-“_

_“Stop, Daniel!” Her voice rises above the man’s. “He’s worth more than anything in this world… He’s my child,” her tears fall down her cheeks, “our child…”_

_“Lying bitch!”_

_The next few seconds passed in slow motion. Daniel Cain grabbing his wife’s hair and dragging her to the floor, kicking her until her ribs cracked, busting her lip and bruising her eye. Then, while gripping his son’s throat, he took the child outside into the raging storm. Thunder and lightning illuminate the rage and hate in the black beady eyes of the elder Caine. Flashes of light blind the child from what follows. A sharp pierce of his abdomen, slaps from his father, tears burn his eyes, cold licks his bare skin, sickeningly sweet pleasure mixed with excruciating pain, a moment of lost felling, his father’s hands on him, nothing…_

_The rain stings. Daniel Caine pulls back from his son, alcoholic vapors waft from him and the child. He withdraws the flask from his shirt picket, taking a sip, then stops. Coming close to his son’s face, he lowers the flask to the boy’s lips._

_“Open,” he commands. The child does so and whiskey is poured into his mouth. “Swallow.”_

_The liquor travels down Horatio’s esophagus, leaving a trail of fire in its path. Minute’s pass before the effect takes place. An empty relief from deep within. All he feels is this burned relief. Pain dulled, noise dulling, surroundings unimportant. Just relief. Darkness contracts around him, swallowing him whole. Nothing is better._

_A whisper calls out to him… “Horatio.”_

 

            “Horatio?”

            More tears stain his face. Shame wells up inside himself again. The knowledge that Frank had a hold on him again hurt. Random pitches of noise alert him. A woman has entered the room.

            “You don’t have to be in here with him, Frank. I’m very capable of taking care of him myself?”

            “Alexx?” Confusion engulfs his mind and emotions. “How… why…”

            “I drove through, and for you.” The woman wears a soft smile on her face. Her chocolate eyes convey loving concern as she begins to approach him.

            “Alexx,” the Texan’s voice begs, “I’d prefer ta stay.” Without force, he says, “I am stayin.”

            Horatio’s eyes dash back and forth between the two as they bicker over him. _‘Why is she here? Why didn’t she wait? The hurricane… I’m so tired.’_

“Horatio, darling, can you hear me?” The question seems to come out of nowhere and surprises him. He nods his acknowledgement, eyes struggling to make contact.

            Frank stands at the door to the glass office and mutters, “I’m gonna be outside. Waiting.”

            “Why?”

            “I was told,” the doctor begins, “that you had a spell. I need to know what happened when you were coming back.”

            His dumbfounded expression changes into that of a scared individual. Blue eyes become distant as he remembers the world he was in as he searched frantically for the Lab. Not only was he stuck in the present dangerous situation, but he was also running from the visions of the past. No tears come to his eyes; no more are left to fall. A fear of disoriented misunderstanding bombards him fully.

            “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

            Alexx does her best to give an encouraging smile, “Describe to me the pressure of the events that happened. Tell me what happened to you.” She kneels down beside him with a black case; she lays her tools the floor by the couch. She skims her hands over her utensils before settling on a penlight, stethoscope, and thermometer.

            “Alexx,” he hates this untrusting sense that has settled into his bones, “what all are you checking?”

            She does not tell him right away, instead demanding the removal of his shirt.

            “No.”

            “Now, Horatio,” she starts, “I need to see if you’re hurt: either externally or internally. So, please, hun… take the shirt off.”

            He immediately attempts to rebuke her.

            “Now, suga.” Her forceful demand makes him flinch. His shame of what she would see clouds his mind to her following commands.

            “I was out doing one more round and checking Eric’s and Ryan’s places before landfall. I thought I had more time. The streets were clear, so I turned to come back. Landfall must have happened a minute or two after the u-turn.

            “Again, it was darker and my sight was already limited. I struggled on my way back, but I got here in one piece.”

            “What struggle?” She prodded. “I saw the Hummer on my way in”

            He continued with a sigh and aversion of sight, “I about flipped the vehicle; a tree almost crushed the front, and the thunder scared the hell out of me.”

            Humming, she crouches in front of him with her hands on his knees. Frustrated energy radiates from her. With finality, she demands, “Take off your shirt.”

            “Alexx,” he pleads, “please… You won’t understand.”

            “I’m not asking you, hun. Take it off.”

            The door to the office opens and shuts quickly as Frank comes in. “Heard the yellin’… H, I’d just listen to her if I were you. Forget the age and weight and all, jus’ wouldn’t wanna make her angry.”

            Feeling betrayed, he protests once more, “Frank, Alexx… please, listen.”

            “No! Take it off, Horatio.”

            Quiet. Extreme quiet. Then, a roar of thunder vibrates the building again. The zipping of lightning and the cracking of trees and lamps are loud enough to hear in the room. Horatio’s face remains pale; his eyes glossed. Before she can yell again, he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Underneath the cloth is another shirt, a white beater.

            Before he can take off the second shirt, Alexx stops him and says, “Stop. Let me see your shoulders.”

            His conscience warns him of the danger this could cause; yet, he allows her to do as she pleases.

            Her hands rub over his left and right shoulders, her eyes raking over the visual ‘evidence’ she sees. Theories and scenes play out in her mind as she considers how his scars were made. Skills from her days working with Horatio’s team resurfacing.

            “When did this one happen?” she asks about a scar extending from his right collar bone to the back of his right arm. “How did…”  
            “Alexx, they’re old and do not relate to tonight’s events.”

            “Horatio,” she practically growls.

            Clearing his throat, Frank requests, “Horatio, stay calm. Alexx, let’s talk outside.”

            Her confusion soaks her voice with a high pitch. Horatio continues to measure the possible outcomes of what and when he would tell her. Without his conscience acknowledgement, the two leave the room.

 

            “Frank?”

            The burly detective turns from the ex-medical examiner and lets out a deep sigh. His eyes are heavy and shoulders sagging.

            “You need to be careful,” he says. “I had a fight a few years ago with my ex and needed a place to stay. So, I called ‘im up and, you know how he is, he didn’ say ‘no.’ Let me live with him for a few weeks. Not once did I see him shirtless. In fact, I never saw ‘im in a short sleeved shirt until the day I was moving out. He was actually wearing one like he has on.” He pauses to consider how much more to tell the doctor. “I badgered ‘im around tryin to coax ‘im into tellin me. He jabbed me. Chipped two back teeth. Made him angry and paid.”

            The man’s story brought an obvious sort of discomfort bubbling inside the doctor. Her motherly instincts tell her that this is more than a discomforting topic… this is something so much more.

            “He’s scared, Francis.”

            The big man looked deep into her eyes, his warning made clear, “When you go back in there, be careful. I’m gonna check on the team.”

            She nods, “Thank you, hun.”

            Turning around, she entered the room cautiously. In her mind, she plans out how she is going to start her analysis. _First, calm him down, a fairly simple endeavor. Next, look him over, checking only for recent injuries. Then, questions. However, do be wary of his temper._

            “Hi, suga. Sorry about that…”

            He hums a disinterested hum that does not surprise her.

            “I really am sorry, Horatio. Bossy and persistent: that’s what happens when you raise kids. Well, that and you become more passionate.”

            “You would know,” he snorts at his own remark. “You and Francis would both know,” sarcasm seeps from every syllable.

            “Please, don’t start. Just allow me this. To check you over. Once. All right, sweetie?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You always say that. When you’re sick you tell everyone that. Tell me, when aren’t you ‘fine’? When aren’t you ‘okay’?”

            As he buttons up his shirt, he vehemently whispers, “Right now.” She shakes her head disapprovingly. He continues to button-up his shirt as she comes to his side.

            “Horatio, I’m going at this wrong. Please, explain to me what happened. Why did you pass out earlier? I’m only here to help.”

            Without looking back at her, he spat, “If I need help, I’ll ask you for it. Any other time, I’ll be just-”

            “Fine… I know. Here, take this. Pain reliever. I want to know you’ve taken some type of medicine after today’s events. Not a sleeping pill or energy shot. Something… to help with any soreness or….”

            Sticking his hand out, he takes the pill and downs it. Her heart drops from its spot in her chest while she stands idle after he leaves.

 

            Outside, the storm rages on. Its harsh winds and sorrowful cries echo the heart of that single man inside. In his mind battles the fear of admitting he needs help and the past experience of having someone who was meant to protect and heal but was the cause of his pain. Like the trees and other debris that are tossed in the throes of the hurricane, his memories wreak havoc in his subconscious psyche, controlling his emotions and influencing his thoughts. They control his heart and soul, bringing with them the crimson tainted blood and deadly black tears of the damage within him. A hurricane of the soul presented for all to see in the form of the dreadful storm outside the glass walls of this steel boned fortress. The offered repair denied. The grieving left to wonder; yet, their lives continue in the wake of the unknown. And, his life… tragedy in tangible form, continues on its road towards an end from which his friends cannot save him.

**Author's Note:**

> I know CSIM is a fandom losing strength. But, it is one that has a fond spot in my heart and I refuse to let it go completely. Even if no one ever reads this, it is here. I love Horatio. I love the team. I love what could have been done in the show (and am disappointed with a lot of what was done).
> 
> Let me know what you think. Good and bad.


End file.
